Failed to Send
by celticvampriss
Summary: Rivetra Week Letters. I interpreted letters to a modern version. Letters Text messages. This is very sad and terrible.


**A/N: This is nothing but sadness. I'm sorry.**

Failed to Send

He stops carrying his phone. He lets the battery die and forgets to turn it on. He goes to work and they ask why he never calls them back or replies to texts. The comments brush off, their annoyance is their problem.

Weeks go by and he finds his cell under his bed, kicked at some point far into the corner. It doesn't turn on so he tosses it onto a pillow. He stares at the dent it leaves for an eternity. He suddenly doesn't feel like cleaning anymore and he leaves his room with a harsh slam of the door and goes for a walk in the cold without a jacket. He sleeps on the couch that night, tossing and turning.

Three months and the phone is on the bathroom counter, charging, though he still hasn't turned it on. It's been flashing 100% for days.

It's too hot outside. Even at night he has the A/C running at full strength. He falls asleep on top of the comforter, rousing several times from fitful nightmares that were more like memories. In the dark he stares at the ceiling and it's the third time he's woken up sweating and with his heart racing. There are few lights in his room, the windows are heavily curtained, but the clock adds light and from the bathroom there's a faint, constant glow.

He sits up and feels like shit. His eyes are sore from being open when he should be sleeping and he doesn't understand why he's sweating in a house that's managing 58 degrees. His thoughts turn around in his head, over and over, and he gets up and pulls the phone off the charger.

The light dies and he sets his finger on the power button.

He doesn't turn it on right away.

He goes back to the bedroom and sits on the floor, with his back against the bed frame. Twice he tapped the power button, but on the third attempt he holds it down until the screen lights up with the Nexus logo. A series of chimes that are too loud for the dense quiet of his apartment make him clench his teeth. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen.

The signal connects, though he hasn't exactly paid the bill, wifi is still enabled. It boots up an inbox of 128 unread emails. 23 apps need to be updated. He has 43 missed calls, 29 pending voicemails, and 79 texts. Facebook insists that he sync his contacts and he has full lives in Candy Crush.

He swipes away the emails. Clears the apps. He's never played Candy Crush in his life. He force closes Facebook. He clears the call history. Most of the voicemails are from Verizon about the outstanding balance and he finally hesitates over the text messages.

He breathes in and out calmly, but his hand starts to shake so he sets it on his knee.

He opens the message window. The most recent messages are from co-workers who gave up trying to contact him months ago. With every conversation he deletes, he holds his breath. As he deletes, the list clears and new conversations rise up the screen. And each new name makes his heart rise and then fall, until he stops completely.

0 new messages. Petra Ral. Last message received 12/9/2013.

He can't breathe at all.

He nearly drops the phone.

His fingers rake through his hair and he sits until the screen dims and then goes black.

Composed he turns it on and unlocks the screen. He clicks on the conversation and suddenly she's right there.

_You're late. I'm going to order without you and then I'll eat while you watch. Just try me.  
_12/9/2013 19:12

_Leaving now. See you in a second.  
_11/28/2013 8:46

_Lol  
_11/27/2013 13:32

_phone*  
_11/23/2013 11:04

_Respond with one word again and I'll install Candy Crush on your pine.  
_11/23/2013 11:04

_Morning. __  
_11/20/2013 7:32

_OmG srry…im not drnk disrigrd  
_11/18/2013 2:34

_Iwantyou ;)  
_11/18/2013 2:04

He reads until he reaches the end and then starts over. By morning his eyes are bloodshot and he's reread all 434 texts four times. He can't see morning through his curtains, but he knows it's a ridiculous hour and that he's glad it's a Sunday.

He's not sure why he starts to type. He swypes the words and gets frustrated with the autocorrect and doesn't bother with punctuation and the character limit extends to a second message and then he deletes everything and types in three words and he hits send before he can realize—

The message is sending…

Sending…

Failed to send.

He tries again.

Sending…

Sending…

Failed to send.

And he can't even cry. He never knew how to cry. He feels bad because there are no tears, but he knows that inside he feels them. He knows that it's all in there, but no one can see. No one ever sees.

Except maybe her. She would know that he was crying. She would know without the tears.

He pushes the phone against his forehead.

Sending…

Sending…

Failed to send.

_on my way  
_(x) Message Not Sent


End file.
